


Ladies On Top

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-18
Updated: 2006-03-18
Packaged: 2018-08-16 06:27:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8091103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Trip and Malcolm take it one step too far. What is Archer going to do? (06/14/2004)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: his is only partly our faultâ€”it's an answer to a challenge by The Libran Iniquity, based on the following criteria: as funny as possible, Trip and Malcolm centric (that one wasn't too hard, that's what we always write, anyway *g*), including the following lines: "Look at thisâ€”four hours and we've gotten as far as an asthmatic ant carrying a ten tonne weight!" (Trip), "Beats having the tardiest arse in Christendom." (Malcolm).  
  
Thanks to Libra for this great challenge and for betaing the story (blame all the grammar mistakes on her!)   


* * *

"What were you thinking?" Archer's voice sounded very calm and very dangerous as he spoke. "You're senior officers, you're supposed to set an example for the crew, and you wrecked half the Armoury pulling the most idiotic stunt I've ever heard of in my whole life! What were you THINKING?!"

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed and Commander Charles Tucker III kept their eyes straight ahead, fixing two spots on the wall behind Archer's ready room desk. Archer kept marching up and down in front of them, feeling his blood pressure rise to a hundred and eighty, and the fact that he had to duck every time he passed that stupid reinforcement beam in the ceiling some stupid engineer had positioned there in such a way that every person taller than a certain Armoury Officer was bound to hit his forehead on it, made him even more furious. Taking a deep breath, he turned around once again, retracing his steps.

"I can't imagine how two blockheads like you ever became Chief Engineer and Tactical Officer of my ship, we had to shut down the whole Armoury, EVERY DAMN CONSOLE IS DRENCHED IN ORANGE JUICE, FOR GOD'S SAKE!! WHAT IN THE NAME OF MOLLY MALONE WERE YOU THINKING?!"

Malcolm only drew himself up a little straighter, staring at the wall with even more force than before, but Trip's hand went up to his mouth and he started coughing quite loudly. Archer whirled around.

"YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY?! You think it's funny when the phase cannons are down and the torpedoes are offline just because TWO IDIOTIC PEABRAINS go and "improve" the protein resequencer, even though I put a stop to that dimwitty project TWO MONTHS AGO! What if we happen to run across a Klingon cruiser in the next twelve hours?! What am I supposed to say? 'Sorry, Captain Glork, we can't fight right now, because ALL OUR WEAPONS ARE SWIMMING IN ORANGE JUICE!!?'"

There was no way anybody could have mistaken the snorts and gargles that were coming from Trip's direction for a cough. Trip was laughing, he was actually laughing when his Captain was screaming bloody murder at him, and Archer took a step towards him, poking him in the chest with one outstretched forefinger.

"You," he said. "You. This was your idea, wasn't it? It's always your idea, ISN'T IT?!!"

Malcolm looked like he would have very much liked to nod at these words, but refrained from doing so, only shifting his feet a little as he resumed his military stance. In the meantime Trip had managed to regain an appropriately guilty countenance, again staring at the oh-so-interesting wall behind Archer's desk.

"I take full responsibility for what happened, Cap'n," he said somberly. "It was my fault."

"DON'T gimme that "I'll-take-responsibility-sir"—speech!" Archer yelled. "I KNOW it was your fault, but it's just as much the fault of this brainless Armoury Officer here, who never fails to act on every stupid suggestion you come up with!"

Still glaring at Trip, Archer resumed his pacing, and right that moment the beam got in his way, making sharp and painful contact with the side of his head.

"Dammit!" Archer shouted, and he didn't have to turn around to know that Trip and Malcolm were almost bursting with suppressed laughter. Well, Trip at least. Malcolm seemed to be a little more serious about the whole thing, but Archer surmised he was only mourning for his drowned phase cannons. Feeling a dull pain throbbing behind his temple, Archer turned around to face them and realized that this wasn't getting anybody anywhere.

"Alright, Gentlemen," he said, taking a deep breath. "Alright. This has gone far enough. During the last three months, not a single week has passed without me having to summon you here at one point or another to lecture you on the responsibilities of a senior officer. But since it looks like I'm just not getting through to you, now you'll have to face the consequences of your actions." Archer paused dramatically, and noted with satisfaction that the almost-grin had disappeared from Trip's face to be replaced by a slightly wary expression. Archer gave each of them a long look, and was just beginning to derive real pleasure from letting them stew in their own juice when Trip spoke up.

"Uh...consequences, Cap'n?"

Archer raised his eyebrows. "Indeed, Commander. Consequences. And since it doesn't seem like it would have much of an effect if I came up with some kind of punishment, I have decided to delegate this job."

Trip's eyes widened, and even Malcolm gave up his wall observations, throwing Archer a worried glance out of the corner of his eyes. Archer smiled grimly.

"Since I somehow have the feeling that they are just the persons for this job, I asked Ensign Sato and Subcommander T'Pol to come up with something. I set them no restrictions and told them to be creative..."

Trip opened his mouth to say something, but Archer held up a hand. "You can cut it out right away, Commander, because I don't want to hear it. You will take every punishment Subcommander T'Pol sees fit, and the same goes for you, Mr. Reed, concerning Ensign Sato. Dismissed."

Neither Trip nor Malcolm budged, staring at him with an expression of dismay and disbelief on their faces.

"You...you can't do that, Jon," Trip all but whined. "You can't!"

"Oh, yes, I can," Archer said. "And maybe next time you'll stop and think of this before you pull another one of these idiotic stunts."

"But, sir..." Malcolm began, but Archer cut him off.

"Dismissed, Lieutenant."

Watching both men trudge out of his ready room, Archer sighed. He knew this was quite an evil thing to do, and maybe not exactly Starfleet regulations either, but there had to be put a stop to this, and he hoped this would do it. Besides, he was quite interested to see what Hoshi and T'Pol would come up with.

* * *

When T'Pol entered mess hall, she was deep in thought. Absentmindedly, she ordered her usual cup of mint tea, carrying it over to a table without really seeing where she was going. All of a sudden, Ensign Sato's voice startled her out of her thoughts.

"Subcommander! Why don't you join me?"

Turning around, T'Pol's eyes fell on the young woman who was gesturing at the free chair across from her.

"Please, sit down."

"Thank you." T'Pol lowered herself onto the seat, putting her cup down on the table. Hoshi smiled at her.

"And, have you already come up with something?" she asked. T'Pol raised an eyebrow.

"What are you referring to, Ensign?"

Hoshi's smile widened, becoming more like a grin, and quite an evil one, too. "Oh come on, T'Pol, you know what I mean. The punishment, of course."

Very deliberately, T'Pol let her eyebrow climb even higher. "I notice a certain...gleefulness in your voice, Ensign. Is it possible that you are deriving a certain pleasure from the task the Captain assigned us?"

"Don't tell me you aren't," Hoshi said, still grinning. "I could have kissed the Captain when he told me about this. Oh, this is gonna be so much fun..."

T'Pol allowed the corner of her mouth to give a slight twitch. "I somewhat see your point, Ensign. So, have you already thought of an appropriate punishment for Lieutenant Reed?"

Hoshi sniggered. "Oh, I sure know what I'd like to do, but I don't think it would be exactly appropriate. But the ideas keep popping up in my mind, so don't worry, I'll think of something. I asked Liz Cutler what she would do in my place, but her suggestion involved a skipping rope and green bermudas, and I don't know where to get those from."

T'Pol took a sip from her mint tea. "Maybe Lieutenant Reed can provide them," she stated, causing Hoshi to go into a laughing fit.

"Well, I don't think so," she said when she had recovered. "What about you? What are you going to do to Trip?"

Well, T'Pol also knew what she would have liked to do, but she would have rather bit off her tongue than admit that in front of Hoshi. Striding for her most Vulcan looks, she raised another eyebrow. "I think I am going to assign him some useful task," she said, putting her cup back down on the table. Hoshi snorted.

"A useful task? What do you mean?"

"Something that serves both the ship and the disciplinary aspect of the assignment."

Hoshi raised her eyebrows. "Uh-oh. Poor Trip. When are you going to tell him about it?"

T'Pol got up from her chair. "I was going to inform Commander Tucker of my disciplinary measure as soon as I had finished my recreational break."

"You know what, T'Pol," Hoshi said, getting to her feet as well, "I'll come with you. I'm sure they're somewhere sitting together, anyway, blaming each other for this, and I don't think we should keep them waiting."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "Very well, Ensign. Let us go."

* * *

"This is all your fault. Even the Captain said so. It was your daft idea, and I just don't see why I get the same punishment as you do."

Dropping the hypospanner onto his work bench with a little more force than necessary, Trip turned around to face the disgruntled Armoury Officer. "Look, you didn't get the same punishment as I did. You got Hoshi, I got T'Pol. See my point?"

Hopping off the console he'd been sitting on, Malcolm started pacing again. "What's that supposed to mean, I got Hoshi, you got T'Pol? Can you imagine what she's going to do to me?"

Trip rolled his eyes. "Come on, Malcolm, Hoshi's not gonna do anythin' to you."

Malcolm stopped in his tracks to glare at him. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean, Commander?"

Trip noticed that Malcolm's ears had turned a distinct shade of red and grinned despite their dire situation. "Your punishment's probably gonna be a peck on the cheek and a movie night date, and that's not exactly a punishment, is it?"

The blush deepened, creeping up Malcolm's cheeks and making him look, as Hoshi would have said, "adorable" and, as Trip would have said, like a tomato with a crew cut.

Malcolm took a deep breath. "Well, T'Pol's probably going to make you her private slave for a day, and don't tell me you won't like it."

Looking around for something he could throw at Malcolm, Trip noticed Ensign Rostov rubbernecking over the railing of the upper level. "As you were, Ensign," he barked, and Rostov quickly drew his head back. There were a few giggles to be heard and Trip shot a dagger glare in the general direction of the upper level. "Better watch out up there or you're gonna be cleanin' the warp coils the rest of the day!"

The giggling ceased abruptly, and Trip looked back at Malcolm who raised his eyebrows.

"A little edgy today, are we, Commander?" he said, and Trip thought he heard a snort from above, but decided to ignore it.

"You're underminin' the little authority I have 'round here, Malcolm," he said instead, but Malcolm had resumed his nervous pacing and wasn't listening anymore.

"I can't believe this!" he said complainingly. "It shouldn't be allowed. This has nothing to do with discipline or anything, it's just plain evilness! And the whole ship is laughing at us, too."

"That they were before," Trip muttered, but Malcolm didn't pay him the slightest attention.

"She's going to think up something bad, I know it! I mean, the Captain can't do this, it's against every regulation in the book!"

"And against the Human Rights, too," Trip said, and felt his mood drop by a few degrees when he heard a choked gargle from the upper level. "Maybe you wanna tone down a little, or this is gonna be ship wide news tomorrow."

"It already is ship wide news, man, face it!" Malcolm exclaimed. "Everybody's laughing at us, and—"

The sound of the door swinging open interrupted him, and all of a sudden there was dead silence in Engineering, the only sound being the soft humming coming from the warp engine. Malcolm and Trip slowly turned around.

"Good evening, Commander, Lieutenant." As T'Pol stepped up beside the work bench, her features were as calm as ever, but a malicious glint in her eyes betrayed her. Hoshi's malice, on the other hand, didn't have to be betrayed, it was written all over her face in a big evil grin.

Trip heard Malcolm swallow, but it didn't strike him as funny. Not at all.

"Oh, hello, Subcommander," he said, striding for his most charming smile. "What can I do for you?"

Hoshi snorted, and Trip mentally kicked himself for his poor choice of words. T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "Well, Commander, I am here to inform you about the nature of the disciplinary measure I have chosen."

"Same here, Lieutenant," Hoshi said, her evil grin somehow spreading. Trip shifted a little on his seat, wishing it wouldn't be so damn silent in here.

"Well?" he said nervously, and T'Pol clasped her hands behind her back.

"Since I got the impression that you do not understand the importance of handling Starfleet equipment with proper care, I think it will be most effective if you spend a whole shift maintaining very delicate Starfleet equipment." She paused. "You are going to clean the science lab tomorrow."

Trip let out the breath he'd been holding, even though somewhere deep down in his dirty mind he felt a little disappointed. Malcolm's earlier suggestion did have a certain lure to it, too, but Trip would have rather bit off his tongue than admitting it in front of the Lieutenant.

"Okay," he said, "no problem."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "It would be appreciated if the science lab were still fit to serve its purpose when you have finished."

"It off," Malcolm added under his breath and winced as Trip's boot connected with his shin.

Hoshi raised an eyebrow. "You're not going to be making any jokes in a minute, Lieutenant," she said, and Malcolm paled.

"Ensign?" he asked, his voice assuming a slightly higher pitch than usual. Hoshi smiled and opened her mouth to speak.

* * *

"She can't do that!" Malcolm wailed. "She just can't!"

Trip, who was only just recovering from a major laughing fit, wiped his eyes. "Oh come on, Malcolm, it's not that bad." Taking another look at the flustered Lieutenant, he burst out laughing once again. "A red striped pinafore! Oh my God, a red striped pinafore!"

"That's not funny!" Malcolm glared at him, now definitely looking like an overripe tomato with a crew cut.

"Oh yes, it is, Malcolm," Trip managed. "You're gonna be the laughin' stock of the whole ship, just deal with it and move on."

Malcolm plopped down on a chair, looking defeated. "It's just not fair!" he whined. "It was your daft idea you thought up in your screwed up brain, and I have to pay for it! It's not fair."

"A red striped pinafore," Trip repeated, shaking his head.

"And a red baseball cap," added a muffled voice from the upper level, followed by several snorts. Malcolm slid down in his chair, covering his face with his hands.

"I won't do it," he murmured, "I won't do it. I'll take a shuttle and—"

"Oh, come on," Trip said, sobering up, "this can actually be quite a lot of fun. All alone with the girls in a dark room..."

Malcolm groaned. "Wanna swap?"

"Actually, I don't think Hoshi would allow it." Trip grinned. "She wants you."

Malcolm peeked out from behind his fingers. "Couldn't you at least help me?"

Trip looked at him, pretending to consider. "Well..."

"I'll help you if you'll help me," Malcolm offered, and Trip took pity on his friend.

"Alright," he said. "If the ladies don't object..."

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "I'm sure they won't."

* * *

"Look at this—four hours and we've gotten as far as an asthmatic ant carrying a ten tonne weight." Trip put his hands to his hips, letting his eyes wander over the room. Malcolm looked up from the microscope slides he was polishing.

"An asthmatic ant?"

Trip shrugged. "An aunt of mine used to say that."

Malcolm snorted, turning back to the slides with an I-won't-ask expression on his face. "I never knew the science lab was that well equipped," he said, throwing the heap of not-yet-polished slides a mournful look. "What the heck do they need all these slides for?"

"T'Pol told me they don't even use these slides anymore," Trip said, taking another bottle with a suspicious-looking chemical inside from the shelf he was about to dust off. "She's just keepin' them for times of need."

"Great that you're telling me now after I've been sitting here for more than four hours, polishing these bloody things," Malcolm said quite testily, grabbing one of the garbage bags that were lying around everywhere and swiping the heap of dirty slides off the table into the bag. There was an ugly shattering sound, and Trip almost dropped the dusting cloth.

"What're you doin'?!"

"She doesn't need a five thousand of these things," Malcolm said, putting the garbage bag away. "A thousand are enough." Grabbing a dusting cloth as well, he looked around the room. "I'm going to help you with these shelves, or we're never going to get finished here."

Trip was still staring in horror at the small remaining heap of polished slides on the table. "She's gonna kill me! She said not to wreck any of the science equipment, or she'll mop the floor with me!" He turned back to the shelf, dusting it off with even more force than before. "I'm gonna tell her it was you who killed her slides."

Malcolm carefully took a big box with mineral samples off a shelf, setting it down on the floor. "She should be grateful I got rid of that useless junk. This is not a lab, this is a dump! Look at all those rocks! Who needs them?"

Trip rolled his eyes, half turning around to look at the Lieutenant. "Look, Malcolm, in case you haven't noticed, we're explorers. This ship doesn't only need torpedoes and phase ca—"

That moment he saw Malcolm's eyes widen. "Watch out!"

But it was too late. Almost as if in slow motion, Trip saw the huge bottle with the poisonous-looking yellow fluid topple off the shelf and come down onto the work table below, shattering into a thousand tiny little shards on impact. There was a low ugly hiss, and the yellow poison began to smoke and bubble, apparently eating through the table.

"No. No!" Clutching his face, Trip stood and watched the foaming hissing disaster. A moment later Malcolm came up beside him, his eyes widening as he saw what had happened.

"It's...it's eating a hole in the table!" he said in an almost awed tone of voice.

Trip put a hand over his eyes. "We're so dead."

"You're so dead," he heard a voice beside his ear and lowered his hand to glare at Malcolm.

The Armoury Officer shrugged. "I wasn't the one who dropped the acid bottle onto the work table."

Trip looked back at the table and saw that by now the fluid had reached the bottom of the table top, eating away the last of the plastic coated material.

"It's gonna drip onto the floor," he said. "I think we should do somethin'."

"You could hold your hands under the hole," Malcolm stated, crossing his arms. Trip shot him a dirty look.

"You're a big help." The first drop hit the floor with a sizzling sound, drawing Trip's attention back to their current problem. "It's eatin' into the floor! What're we gonna do?!"

Malcolm rolled his eyes, grabbing the bag with the discarded slides and shoving it under the table. The fluid dripped onto the bag, making it wrinkle and stink, eating its way through the plastic of the bag and starting to attack the slides. Letting out a breath, Trip plopped down onto a chair.

"That was quick thinkin' Malcolm," he said, and Malcolm snorted.

"I wonder how someone with your practical abilities ever became Chief Engineer." Malcolm looked back at the still smoking table. "Now what are you going to do about that hole? There's hardly a chance of T'Pol overlooking it."

Sighing, Trip got up and inspected the damage. The hole was fist-sized with jagged edges, and by now had stopped bubbling and sizzling. "We could convert it into a garbage slot," he said without much hope.

Malcolm groaned. "Oh, great idea. Maybe we should get some more of that yellow stuff and make it eat away the whole table, and you tell her you were planning on building her a new one, anyway."

Ignoring him, Trip looked around, and his eyes fell on the box of mineral samples Malcolm had taken off the shelf earlier. Picking it up, he carried it over to the table and carefully placed it over the hole. Malcolm watched him as if he wasn't quite sure he wanted to believe what was right in front of his eyes.

"Trip..." he said slowly. "You're not serious, are you?"

"She never uses this table, anyway. And you said it yourself, no one ever needs these rocks. She won't notice."

Malcolm closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Trip, she's a Vulcan. She notices everything."

"Maybe not," Trip said hopefully, and Malcolm shrugged, picking up his dusting cloth.

"Well, I don't care. It wasn't me. Let's get back to work, I'd say. Eighty nine shelves to go."

* * *

Malcolm straightened the last chair, surveying the room one last time. This was just not fair. He'd known Hoshi's punishment would be evil, but organizing the Girls' Movie Night, decorating the room, providing the beverages and serving the popcorn wearing a red striped pinafore and a baseball cap was just too much. It was mean. And he'd heard through the grapevine that Hoshi had sent a message to every single female crewmember announcing that on today's movie night Lieutenant Reed and Commander Tucker were going to be in charge of catering and providing an all round service. And are going to make a pair of bloody fools of themselves, Malcolm thought sourly, picking up the abominable pinafore and examining it glumly. There was no way around it, he was going to have to wear THAT THING.

Well, at least I won't be alone, he thought, but then decided that this didn't really make a difference, since Trip didn't seem to mind at all running around all evening looking like a lollypop, giving out popcorn to giggling ensigns. Reluctantly, Malcolm pulled the pinafore over his uniform, fastening the bands around his waist and putting the cherry-red baseball cap onto his head. He closed his eyes for a moment, thanking all angels in heaven that there was no mirror around. The thought of half the female crew seeing him like that made him wince.

Hoshi, if I weren't a gentleman, I'd call you a mean evil bitch, he thought, and at that moment heard the door swish open. Trip came in, wearing a pinafore and cap as well, pushing a small trolley laden with popcorn bags. When his eyes fell on Malcolm, he let go of the trolley's handle, clapping his hands over his mouth.

"Oh my God, you look like my Aunt Kate in her church dress!" he managed between gasping laughter. "Same height as well."

Malcolm briefly considered strangling the Commander with his very own pinafore, but then decided against it. He might still need him, after all.

"Beats having the tardiest arse in Christendom," he said instead. "How come you took so long with that popcorn?"

Trip sighed. "Well, Lieutenant Hess and some other ladies from Engineerin' held me up, askin' me if they could take the evenin' off to go to movie night."

Even though he knew the answer to the question, Malcolm asked anyway. "You didn't give your permission, did you?"

"Of course I did," Trip said, grinning. "You don't often get the chance to see your boss makin' a fool of himself, do you."

Malcolm stared at him for a moment, then turned away, shaking his head. "Must be something about the American way of life," he muttered, but Trip wasn't listening, pushing the trolley over to the wall.

"Well, let's get goin'," he said, sounding far too enthusiastic for Malcolm's taste. "The ladies will be here soon."

* * *

"Lieutenant, could you please bring me some more popcorn?"

Casting a weary glance over his shoulder, Malcolm grabbed two more popcorn bags and hurried over to Ensign Johnson who was cheerfully waving her empty bag at him. Handing her a fresh bag he tried to avoid eye contact with Hoshi who was sitting next to Johnson, but she grabbed him by the arm before he could escape.

"Oh, will you please get me another coke, Lieutenant?" she said sweetly, fluttering her eyelids at him. "And by the way, you look gorgeous in that pinafore."

Malcolm felt his ears grow hot and narrowed his eyes at her. "Ensign..." he began, but she just flashed him a big smile.

"Coke, with ice, please."

"Of course," he said icily, hurrying off to the last row where someone else was screaming for popcorn. Glancing over across the room, he saw Trip among his Engineering crew, giving out popcorn to his giggling fanclub and obviously having a great time.

I must be doing something wrong, he thought, pouring Hoshi's coke and sneaking a look at the chronometer on the wall. Realizing they had only two minutes to go until the movie would start, Malcolm sighed in relief. Adding ice to the drink, he picked up a straw and slowly walked back over to where Hoshi and Johnson were engaged in a lively conversation. When she saw him approaching, Hoshi's face lit up.

"Oh thanks so much, Lieutenant," she simpered. Malcolm shot her a glare.

Choke on that coke, he thought and even considered saying it out loud when something else crossed his mind. "What are they showing tonight, anyway?" he asked, and Hoshi wiggled her eyebrows at him.

"Oh, it's something you're really going to like, Lieutenant," she said. "Love Story."

* * *

Fifty minutes later Malcolm was more bored than he'd ever been in his whole life. Sitting in the back of the room, he had a good view of the screen up front, but he'd lost track of what was transpiring there half an hour ago. Why would anyone watch that kind of movie? There were no explosions, there were no car races, there were no space battles, there were no gunfights, and not a single person had jumped from a skyscraper's roof with or without a parachute yet. And there were no Bond girls either. Malcolm was bored.

Looking over at Trip, he saw that the Commander wasn't exactly enjoying himself either. Trip had fallen asleep, his mouth hanging open and his nostrils vibrating as he was snoring with increasing volume. None of the female audience seemed to have noticed, though, them being thoroughly mesmerized by the oh-so-engaging story unfolding in front of them on the screen.

There was one good thing about it, though; at least they weren't screaming for popcorn every two minutes. Idly stirring in his own popcorn, Malcolm picked one up, threw it in the air and tried to catch it with his mouth. He had to try three times until he caught one, almost falling off his seat as he did so. Leaning back in his chair again, he chewed on his hard-fought-for popcorn, glancing over at Trip who was still snoring away on his chair. It was tempting. Very tempting indeed. Picking up another popcorn, Malcolm aimed and let the projectile fly in the direction of the Commander's open mouth. It hit him square on the nose, and Trip stirred a little, snoring even louder. His almost-success making him ambitious, Malcolm took another popcorn, aiming with more care this time. Well, he wasn't Security Chief for nothing. This time, he hit his target. The popcorn went straight down Trip's throat, and the Commander's eyes flew open at once. Coughing and spitting Trip sat up, clutching one hand to his chest, his face going dangerously red.

"Wh-hat..." he gagged, and Malcolm jumped up, patting him on the back.

"Trip," he stuttered, watching in dismay as the Commander turned an ugly shade of crimson. "I'm sorry, I didn't want—"

Trip kept gagging and coughing, and all over the room people turned in their seats, staring with raised eyebrows and open mouths at their suffocating CO. Malcolm felt close to panicking.

"Trip, I'm sorry, come on, try taking a deep breath, oh my God, he's turning blue—"

By now, most of the women had left their chairs, hurrying to the back of the room where Trip sat doubled up in his chair, coughing and gasping for air. Spotting Liz Cutler in the crowd, Malcolm frantically waved his hand at her.

"Quick, Ensign, he's choking—"

"Move aside, Lieutenant." Calmly, Liz Cutler stepped behind Trip, grabbing him around the waist and tightening her grip with a sharp jerk. Trip gave another cough and the popcorn shot out of his mouth, landing a few feet away somewhere between the chairs. Smiling at Malcolm, Liz let go of Trip who was slowly returning to a healthier shade of pink, still holding his throat and gasping for air.

"Next time try eating your popcorn with a little less haste," Liz told Trip with an innocent smile, but the Commander wasn't listening. By now, his complexion had almost changed back to normal, and there was a dangerous glint in his eyes as he slowly rose from his chair, beginning to advance on Malcolm.

"You," he said, "you. You threw that popcorn, didn't you?"

Malcolm swallowed. "Listen, Trip..." he began, but it was too late. Trip grabbed two bags of popcorn from the trolley, and a second later Malcolm was being hit by a shower of greasy, golden brown corn balls.

"Ackpthth," he sputtered, holding up his hands to protect himself from the bombardment, but the popcorn kept coming, and Malcolm noticed in dismay that it wasn't only Trip throwing it.

"Popcorn fight!" he heard someone cry next to his ear and all of a sudden all hell broke loose. Popcorn was flying everywhere, Ensigns squealed and ducked behind chairs as the brave and noble crew of the Enterprise started pelting each other with popcorn. Shaking his head, Malcolm sent a few popcorn crumbs flying, but before he could even try to re-establish the dignified composure seemly of a Starfleet Officer, a load of greasy crumby stuff was poured into the back of his shirt, making him squeal.

"Whawasat?" He whirled around and saw Hoshi standing there with an empty popcorn bag in her hand and an evil grin on her face.

"Having fun, Lieutenant?" she asked and without even thinking about it, Malcolm grabbed a bag of popcorn, spattering its contents all over Hoshi and feeling a surge of wild satisfaction when he saw her stumble, lose her balance on the greasy floor and plop down on her behind in a rather undignified way.

"Very much so, Ensign," he said, and Hoshi went for him. But before she had the chance to soap Malcolm's face with popcorn, the sound of the door suddenly swishing open made everyone freeze. Malcolm slowly turned his head, and Trip, who'd been under heavy fire by his Engineering crew, dropped his own ammunition, staring with wide eyes at the person in the door frame.

"What is going on here?" Captain Archer took a step into the room and almost slipped on the greasy floor. "What the hell is this ab—"

Then his eyes fell on Trip and Malcolm and his face turned an interesting shade of red.

"You," he breathed. "You. I should have known. Commander, Lieutenant, my ready room. NOW!"

Malcolm exchanged a look with Trip, seeing his own dismay mirrored on the Commander's face. Slowly getting to his feet, Malcolm shook off the worst of the popcorn and followed Trip, trudging towards the door while the Ensigns watched in shock. This time they were really going to get it.

* * *

"That DOES IT!" Again, Captain Archer was pacing up and down in front of them, but Malcolm noticed that this time as a measure of precaution he had avoided the reinforcement beam, marching to and fro where the ceiling was high enough for a man of his height. "This is definitely the last straw, I WON'T tolerate this ANY LONGER! If you two weren't the best Engineer and Tactical Officer I could get, I'd bust you down to crewmen SECOND CLASS, or throw you into the brig for AT LEAST two months, but as it is, three days will have to suffice. During those three days, however," and Archer's voice became a low, dangerous hiss, "you're not going to read, you're not going to do any paperwork, you're not going to do anything but thinking about what you've done and what the expression "set an example for the crew" actually means. Understood?"

"Yessir!" Malcolm said quickly and heard Trip echo his words. Malcolm wondered briefly how it could have happened that it was him standing here, the ever-correct Armoury Officer who always badgered the Captain to run a tighter ship and to enforce discipline onboard. If Archer had followed his suggestions, three days in the brig wouldn't have been the end of this by far. Malcolm made a quick note to himself to keep his big mouth shut in the future, then returned his attention to the Captain's ranting.

"And if you forget to toe the line only once in the next six months, I'm going to demote you no matter how good you are. This has gone FAR ENOUGH!" Archer paused for a moment, looking them up and down. "And do get rid of these silly aprons, you look like Stan and Olly wearing these things."

"Yessir," they both repeated, and Malcolm thought by himself that if Archer hadn't given that evil order in the first place, they wouldn't be wearing these red striped things, anyway.

"Alright," Archer said, "now get out of my sight, and I want you to report to the brig in half an hour at the latest. UNDERSTOOD?"

"Yessir." Malcolm was glad to be able to get out of Archer's shooting range—a poor choice of words, maybe, but Archer did seem ready to kill them if he got the chance. As Malcolm was just about to touch the panel beside the ready room door, it slid open, revealing a rather disgruntled-looking Subcommander T'Pol.

"Lieutenant," she said, stepping into the room. "And Commander Tucker. Very well. I am missing three thousand seven hundred and ninety eight microscope slides, and could you please tell me what exactly happened to my table in the science lab?"

Trip stared at her for a moment, then exchanged a glance with Malcolm, and without another word, they both bolted for the door, breaking into a run for the turbolift.


End file.
